New Years Day musings

I can't believe it's 2006. I remember sitting in a social studies class in 6th grade when my teacher said something about the year 2000 . I did the math in the margin of my notebook and saw that I'd be 56 years old. As far as I was concerned then that was so old that I truly believed I'd be long dead, or at best so old and decrepit that I might as well be dead. And here I am -- taking dance class several days a week, walking up 12 flights of stairs without getting too out of breath, quite healthy (except for a little mildly elevated blood pressure) and generally suffering from nothing worse than a few aches and pains from time to time. My hearing is fine, my eyesight isn't any worse than it always was, I still have most of my own teeth, my mind is still as good as ever -- I think! -- and I'm excited about turning 62 this year because here in NYC it means becoming eligible for a lot of Senior Citizen discounts.

I have a couple of friends who dread each birthday. They seem to feel that the number means something terrible, even if they are healthy, strong and active. I don't understand that attitude although I do try to respect it in others. (I've made a few blunders over the years wishing Happy Birthday to people who want to pretend that their birthdays don't happen.) I've been told that my feeling about aging would change when I hit 40 (it didn't) or 50 (not then either) or 60 (I had a huge party to celebrate!) or 70 (we'll see....). All I know is that so far each passing year has struck me as funny more than anything else. That 6th grader who thought I'd be ancient at 56 is still lurking somewhere in my subconscious and it tickles me to prove her wrong.